


Movie Man

by Miyamashi (MorganEAshton)



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dirk is neither the world's best dad, Dysfunctional relationships all over the place, F/M, M/M, Mystery, Nor the worst, POV Second Person, Parenthood, People who have children the old-fashioned way, Possible Triggering Content, Present Tense, Promise, References to puppet porn, Repressed Memories, Romance, Unreliable Narrator, Will have a happy ending, dirk's pov
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-07
Updated: 2013-04-27
Packaged: 2017-12-07 19:51:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/752397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorganEAshton/pseuds/Miyamashi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Dirk Strider.  You have been called many things in your life, but you never expected that "Father" would be one of them.</p><p>Yet here you are with two adorable brats, an almost-estranged ex, and a lot of regrets.  You're a pretty pathetic parent and have a history as the most hella bad boyfriend of all time, but you try to take it day by day. </p><p>Then someone comes along who's frighteningly similar to the hero from your favorite childhood movie, and it turns your whole world on its head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For Fake+Name ([kforshort](http://kforshort.tumblr.com) on Tumblr), who was lamenting the lack of happy stuff in the JakeDirk tag. I thought it was only fair to help out, given how much support K gave me on [_Oh Confound it, Dating is Discombobulating!_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/527607)
> 
> This was supposed to just be a fluffy oneshot, but these things never seem to go as I plan them. Instead, you get an elaborate AU that isn't always so fluffy. It'll get there, trust me.
> 
> To those of you who watched OCiDiD, the chapters on this one are going to seem very short in comparison. That's both a pacing choice, and a choice that'll hopefully make it a much shorter wait between posts. I'm trying.

There's this movie you used to watch when you were younger.

If you saw it now, you'd probably be horrified by your past self's taste. Still, knowing that fact doesn't stop it from popping into your head now and then. Unfortunately, you remember some of the events but nothing else. No title, no actors, not even the name of the protagonist. Helpful, you know. At least it's something, given how little you remember of your past as a whole.

This evening one of the old sitcoms you watch ironically is randomly rerunning the touching Thanksgiving special, and it's given you a sudden insatiable craving for pumpkin pie. By some esoteric psychological mechanism, that somehow triggers thoughts of the movie to crop up against your will, and you wish you could find the damned thing again so you could show it to the kids while you have them both over. You think it had to have been your favorite growing up if you remember even this much after all these years. Maybe the rugrats would like it, too.

Rose likes stories, so you figure if you can't find the film itself that it at least gives you a starting point when she ropes you into telling one to her and Dave before bed. Dave groans and faceplants his pillow dramatically, because if you're going to keep him up with a stupid story, why can't he just play his video games instead? 

You remember the last time you allowed that. It ended up winding him up more, then he threw a fucking tantrum when you tried to get him to stop and go to sleep. That ain't happening again, so you promise him he'll like it. It has monsters. Monsters are cool.

That gets him to at least peek over a bit in interest, though he hides it when he sees you looking and pulls the sheets over his head. Rose, on the other hand, seems intrigued already, her big eyes fixed on you. Good enough.

"Once upon a time..."

"Bro!" the blanket lump on Dave's bed squeaks. "Once upon a time is for stupid fairy tales."

You sigh and humor him. "At the beginning of this cool-as-fuck story that isn't a stupid fairy tale, there was once a brave young adventurer."

"What was her name?" asks Rose, her chin cradled in the heels of her hands.

"Girls aren't adventurers, stupid," says Dave, forgoing pretending to ignore you for flipping over and tucking the blanket under his armpits so he can glare at his sister. 

You tell Dave to stop calling shit stupid and that girls can be adventurers if they damn well please, but this particular adventurer happened to be a boy.

Rose sighs airily, with a "Fine, Father. If you insist."

"You can call me Bro too, Rose. I've already told you that."

"But you're not my brother. You are my father. Dave is my brother."

"Not brother, stupid." Goddamnit, Dave. "A bro is different from a brother. And Bro's too cool to be a stuffy old dad."

"Not Dad, David. I called him Father," Rose retorts smugly.

"David isn't even my name, _Roseanne_!"

If the splitting migraine you're already starting to sport is any indication, maybe Rose is right and the "Bro" thing isn't fooling anyone except Dave. You feel too old for this. "Can I just tell the fucking story, so you brats can sleep?"

They stop bickering just long enough for Rose to ask, "What was _his_ name?"

As it has already been established by the convenient prior narrative, you have no idea. "His name was too cool to be said aloud," you lie. "If you say his name, your head falls off."

They both seem unconvinced, but Dave still tells you to write it down and give it to Rose so she can say it.

You tell him to zip his goddamn lips or Cal will tell the rest of the story.

He does, thank God. But of-fucking-course Rose snarks back that she'd just _love_ to hear a story from Cal. She sadly doesn't have a borderline phobia of badass puppets and you can't think of anything else to threaten her with, so you just give up, ground them both, and then go take one of the hydrocodones left over from that time you got your leg sliced open trying to teach Dave how to hold a katana. Desperate times call for desperate measures. 

After they've fallen asleep and all the TV stations are playing infomercials, you dimly realize that you're a little disappointed that you never got to tell your story, and you don't know why. It _was_ a pretty stupid story. You don't know what you were thinking.

\--------

When you go to wake the kids up in the morning so you're not all late for your weekly lunch date, you find them cuddled up in Rose's bed. Dave must've had another nightmare, and you feel a bit guilty for having been too doped up for it to have woken you. Well, at least they're getting along again.

In the back of your mind, you register the cold that's still clinging like a phantom to your bare back. It's been a long time since you had someone to curl up next to. Roxy's voice in your head reminds you that she's still there for you if you want to hook back up. You know, you tell it. You wish you could. It'd be better for the kids than constantly shifting them back and forth like this.

Roxy looks good, now that she's sobered up. Her face has softened so it isn't so gaunt and her eyes look brighter. You're proud of her, and you tell her so. You wish you weren't perceptive enough to catch the sorrow under her smile when she thanks you and tells you that you're as much of a stud as you always were. 

The grounding didn't last--it never does--and the kiddos are having a bit of a miniature food fight on their side of the booth. Dave is wielding his straw like a sword, and Rose is fighting back with the powers of her fry-wands. By the end of it, Dave's hair is full of salt (magic dust) and Rose has a ketchup cut on one cheek, and they're both laughing.

You've forgotten why you were annoyed, and you're feeling kind of bad for the night before. It's not the first time you've gotten short with them, and it probably won't be the last. The best dadbro. It is you.

When your ex and daughter are ready to go, neither of the kids moves to hug. Dave is too cool for all that stupid sappy stuff, he says. Rose is a proper grown-up lady, so she holds out her hand for a demure shake instead. Just to spite her, Dave grabs her hand, curls it into a fist, then bumps it.

You and Roxy do hug, then exchange the requisite platonic cheek kisses. She tells you to take care of Davey while she's gone, and that she'll see you when it's time for her to pick him up next weekend. You say you know she'll take great care of Rose--which makes Rose pull a bit of an unladylike face--and tell her, "See ya', Rox."

Dave asks you in a small voice later if it's uncool of him to feel sad that he didn't give his sister a hug.

"Nah, little bro. You've just gotta give her the coolest hug ever next time to make up for it."

You and Dave don't see much of each other for the rest of the week after that. He almost immediately locks himself in his room now that he doesn't have a playmate anymore. You try and remind his retreating back to do his homework now that Rose isn't around to distract him, but you don't think he hears you. You sigh and make yourself scarce except to leave him food and make sure he goes to school and doesn't go to bed too late or too dirty, on the pretense of trying not to smother him. You tell yourself that's just the way the world works when you're an incredibly cool dude taking care of the coolest little kid ever, but you know it's because you're just a shitty Bro, and an even shittier Father.

\--------

When Roxy picks Dave up from school on Friday, you spend the next two days recording. The felt feels good against your skin and the camera feels better, but then something hits you like a freight train and you remember what it is you're actually doing. It shatters the haze, and in a split second of vertigo the ground crumbles beneath your feet and you just feel sick and empty. The isolation of being in the spotlight under the gaze of thousands of loyal followers is normally a rush, but now it brings back unwelcome recollections of a more innocent time. Your head's still spinning, and you're suddenly back in an adolescence on the other side of the screen, where the whole world stopped existing while you pretended that a cinematic adventurer was your friend.

But the anxiety causes you to grip tighter and stroke faster, and when your vision goes white you forget for a little while longer.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes things have to get worse before they can get better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2x Update Combo!

In the darkness of early Sunday morning, you dream startling dreams that see you waking too early, shaking and trying to catch your breath. You can't get back to sleep and lunch isn't until noon, so when 8 AM rolls around you're dialing your therapist's home number and telling her that you think some of your repressed memories are surfacing.

You spend the time after your phone session staring at the blank TV. You can't stop thinking of movies that were worlds apart from the adventure story you wish you could find, ones made by a brother who was never there. You don't remember enough to know why he did it, only that he did, and you know it had to have pretty been pretty bad if your own mind has jept you locked out of it for so long. You know enough to know you weren't exactly a normal, healthy child, and despite the fact that your therapist just told you not to go down this road, you can't help to feel like that must've had something to do with it. Your mind acts as a projector, and you watch acidic-colored nonsense splay out on the cold glass and you feel like scum, and utterly alone.

Your alarm wakes you from a different kind of slumber today.

When you see Dave, you hug him so hard he has to pry you off him, and you tell him you're going to do something fun together this week. It sends a jolt of fear through you when he looks at you like you've snapped, but you give him your best pokerface and whisper that you were demonstrating how to give the coolest hug ever, so he could pass it on to Rose.

They can all tell that you're shaken. You feel it in their expressions and the way they tiptoe around you in conversation and the way the kids don't play at the table, but to their credit nobody wounds your pride more by bringing it up. 

You trade the normal hugs and kisses with Roxy, and Rose squeals in shock when Dave actually does follow your lead and wraps her up in a truly epic bear hug. It's a small moment of relief in an otherwise shitty day. At least you got that one thing right.

When the girls are ready to leave, Roxy gives you this horrible worried look and opens her mouth like she's about to speak, but all she says is, "Goodbye, Dirk," and then she's gone. If you're honest with yourself, you wish she'd spoken up, pride be damned. That phone call wasn't enough, and you miss the days before you fucked everything up between the two of you, when you still had a best friend you could talk to about these things.

You aren't exactly sure where to start with this whole "not being a neglectful douche like your own bro apparently was" thing. You still feel like you're walking on eggshells around Dave, like if you make one wrong move, spend one second too long breathing down his neck, that he'll stop thinking of you as his bro, and start thinking of you as the stuffy old dad he was so adamant against having last Saturday. It doesn't make much logical sense that you'd be so scared of being overbearing if you had the opposite problem growing up, and you think you'll have to bring it up in your next therapy session to see if the doc can make heads or tails of it.

Regretfully, you aren't going in tomorrow because you called this morning, and without any guidance you falter. All you manage with Dave is a few halfhearted strifes and a painfully awkward trip to the swankiest pizza parlor in town, and he is patently not impressed. He locks himself in his room again and you disappear like you always do, and nothing's changed at all. You remember that old saying that you always become the ones who raised you, and you see the truth in it.

It's unusual for you to dream multiple times in one week, but Thursday night sees your subconscious as active as it had been on that horrible goddamn morning. This time, you don't dream of the past, but of what you could become. You dream of turning into the bro who he looks up to but secretly hates, one who's more than distant; he's untouchable. That man with your face is a vengeful false god in a shrine of relics both sharp and stuffed, who treats him like a burden. 

Your bro is a faceless presence in the dream and he says he knows what you've done. When you tell him that's not you, that you love both your kids even when they're being little shits, he says it's too late because the damage is already done. Haven't you ever wondered why Dave won't tell you what his nightmares are about?

You wake feeling unspeakably old, like you've lived for three men instead of one, and you strongly consider giving Roxy full custody. It isn't the first time you've thought it, but this time the dream is still fresh in your mind and too close to your reality for comfort. When you see her at the school Friday you can't bring yourself to do it, but you do ask her if she'll take the kids this weekend, too. As you climb into your car, you angle the rearview mirror to look at them without looking, and your son looks utterly betrayed; your daughter, crushed.

You drive.

\--------

You don't record anything that weekend. The kids would normally be over, and the fact that they're not hangs over your head like it's ready to drop. Even if you wanted to make a few extra films, you don't think you could get it up if you tried. What you do is pace, and each direction is a doubt. One asks if hurting them was worth it, and the other wonders if they deserve to turn out as fucked up as you are because you can't bear to give them up. When, after hours of deliberating, you still can't figure out which answer is right, you buy a couple bottles of the nastiest whiskey you can find and drink yourself out of your head, just like you promised yourself you never would because of Rox.

Hangovers are a bitch, and come Monday when your therapist asks if you've had any new developments with the memories, you growl out that you've realized you want them to fucking stay repressed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _What you wouldn't give to be a better man._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would have gotten this done earlier in the day, but I was out of the house for most of it. Tomorrow should see an earlier update.
> 
> Made a couple little changes to Ch. 2, as well.

You consider driving home after the session, but your hands won't obey you and you take the turn to the school. It takes you too long to steel yourself to get out of the car, and you wonder when you became such a coward.

Roxy is understandably furious when she sees you. The second you're in earshot, she's hissing at you, forcefully enough to get her point across, but quietly enough that it won't make too much of a scene.

"What has gotten into you? Six years without ever _once_ breaking the schedule, and you think it's okay just to skip out on lunch, without even calling? You're the one who said they needed a stable, _predictable_ routine, Dirk, and do you know what? Dave watched the door the entire time, because you were supposed to be there and you weren't."

It would be so much easier, so much more fair to the kids just to tell her it's over, no more back-and-forth. One home is always more stable than two and you know it, but nothing comes out of your lips. You think your face should be as contorted in emotion as Roxy's is, but it isn't. There's a bit of tightness around your mouth, but otherwise you can't seem to will yourself to break your pokerface. Not even for this.

Roxy is beating on your shoulder and Dave is behind her with his hand to his chest so the teachers don't see the rude gesture he's probably too young to be making. It hurts, but it somehow hurts more when Rose runs over and clutches onto one of your legs. 

You were never supposed to be a father. You took the normal precautions, but everything went wrong. The condom turned out to be faulty, the birth control pills had no effect, and the day you were supposed to take her to the abortion clinic saw you with the worst flu of your life. You both lost the nerve after that.

You're not just Bro out of pride. You're Bro because you can't take the pressure of being a parent. You're Bro because you can't come to Career Day when you can't even tell the kids where the money that buys their expensive toys comes from. You're Bro because you've tried everything from Xanax to pot and still failed to quell the anxiety, who only put up the swords and smuppets because you thought one of the neighbors was gonna call CPS, who's always found it easier to love fake people than real ones.

You're Bro, but you sometimes wish you could just be a stuffy old Dad. That doesn't make it hurt any less when Dave calls you just that and tells you he's staying with Mom now because he hates you. Isn't that what you wanted? Wouldn't it be better for him? Roxy's clean now, she's holding down a respectable job, and she is and always was the strongest person you know. She would be so much better for him.

Then Rose tempers the blow by calling you "Bro" for the first time, and she says Switch Week is next week, so she's still going to get to stay with you, right? And when you tell her that might not be such a good idea and try and pull your leg away, she starts crying.

Neither of your kids is prone to tears. Dave tries too hard to emulate you and Rose is too proud, but here's your little girl bawling her eyes out, and when Dave sees his sister break down, he does too.

Roxy's given up all pretense and finally started yelling at you. What the fuck is this, some kind of early midlife crisis? What's _wrong_ with you? This isn't the Dirk she knows and loves, and--

You yell back, even though you normally yell just about as often as you cry, and you tell her the memories are coming back and you've realized you're really just a worthless piece of shit who not even your brother could love and she asks you what that fucking therapist is telling you now and you say the truth and she says bullshit and you say the past doesn't lie and she says painful memories get repressed for a reason and you say and she says and the kids are crying louder and everyone's staring now and there's a tug on your pants leg and Rose again says

"Bro?"

And you break.

You can't do it. It might not be the right decision, but you'd miss them, and it would sever the only thing left between you and Roxy. You can't just dump all of this on your best friend, and you can't bring yourself to let them grow up without a dad, even if he's a pathetic excuse for one.

Before you know what you're doing, you're kneeling on the pavement with Rose in one arm and the other held open for Dave and you can't stop your mouth from repeating "sorry, sorry, sorry".

Dave won't come into the hug and he won't come home with you because he still hates your guts. Rose, on the other hand, says Switch Week is coming a week early, and won't take no for an answer.

There are no hugs or kisses between you and Roxy before you go, but Rose whispers something to Dave before he takes his mother's hand and leaves. You lift her up onto your shoulders for the short walk to the car and the gesture doesn't just seem to calm her down, but it salves your wounds a bit, too. 

On the trip back, Rose apparently decides that she is not okay with this tension thing and chooses to tell you about her day, instead. She tactfully doesn't ask you about yours. 

You think your daughter is a pretty cool kid.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A game of pretend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, I told you I'd update earlier today! There may even be another chapter before the day is through.

You are now convinced that your daughter is the cleverest kid in the entire fuckin' world.

"Bro?" she waits to ask until you've gotten in, grabbed drinks--soda for yourself and sweet tea in her purple sippy cup for her--made some pizza rolls for the both of you, and gotten comfortable on the couch.

It sucks to admit, but it sounds wrong coming from her, and you sigh. "Rose, thanks for doing that for me, but you don't really wanna call me Bro, do you?"

She looks like she's about to jump into a lie to placate you, but then she settles back down and shakes her head.

"Call me whatever you want."

She makes The Cute Face at you--the one that can make you do just about anything, where she tilts her head just so and then flutters her eyelashes--and asks, "Daddy?"

That's new, too, and it makes something clench inside you, hard. When you say, "Yeah, baby girl?" it comes out breathy.

"Can we play a game?"

"What kinda game?"

"A pretend game."

You nod.

"Stay right there." She unscrews the top off her cup before she drinks and then takes a pizza roll with her when she runs off.

You stay right there.

She comes back with a marker and one of the many packets of sticky notes you keep scattered around the house. (You stocked up after the first time she and Dave got a hold of some. It may have been a goddamn nightmare to clean up, but it was too hilarious to resist when you went to check on them one day and both they and half their room were covered while they used them to draw on everything.) "Lie down," she says, moves her cup and plate over to the edge of the table, and then sits in the easy chair.

You lie down.

She eats another pizza roll, then holds up the marker and pad authoritatively and says, "Tell me about your week."

You're not sure whether you want to laugh or cry, but you do neither. You're not about to tell a seven-and-a-half year old about what a fucking wreck you are, so you think fast to come up with something. "Well, every weekday while you and Dave have been at school, dinosaurs have been showing up and I've had to fight them off."

"Dinosaurs?" She doesn't seem to be buying it.

"Yeah. _Ninja_ dinosaurs. It wears a dude out, havin' to fight those things, especially the T Rexes. I've been worried they'll show up while one or both of you are over, which is why I've been scared to bring you here. But I'll defend you to my dying breath if it comes to that."

"Don't pander to me," she deadpans sarcastically. You're not sure where she picked up the word, but it makes you proud in a way you'll never admit.

"I thought we were playing pretend."

She lets out a huge, melodramatic sigh and shakes her head like she's the adult here and you're an incredibly dense kid. "We are. I'm your pretend therapist, and you're my patient, but the point of pretend is you act like it's real, so you've gotta tell me the truth."

"I don't think so, Rose."

"I already _know_ you've been having a buncha bad memories. You told Mom."

So you did. You fought with their mom right in front of them, made a scene at their school that could get them teased by the other kids, and made them both burst into tears. You suck so hardcore.

"I'm waiting."

You're not sure what to do. This is heavy shit, and you really don't want any of the people you love to have to deal with your baggage, especially not someone who still has a modicum of innocence left. At the same time you think Rose is quick enough to know if you're fibbing, and you'd like to be able to talk to someone in your family about this. It's probably a bad sign that you're desperate enough to do it like this. You can't tell her all of it, so settle on the abridged version. "I had a couple of bad dreams..."

"I thought you had trouble sleeping?" She's still skeptical.

"I normally do, but this week has been different. Promise that's not a lie."

She looks at you for a moment, then seems to judge your story adequate enough. "Go on."

"Well, they made me realize that I'm not such a great guy, and maybe a guy like me shouldn't be trusted with two kids."

She doesn't look upset. Just utterly confused. "You think you're a bad daddy?"

You nod, more nervous than you care to believe. It's one thing to know you're shit at this, and a completely different thing to know that the people you love actually agree with you. You probably shouldn't be doing this at all, but if anyone deserves to have a say in this, it's the very people you're trying to save. 

"And that's why you tried to make us go with Mom?"

"Yeah." And if she _does_ agree with you? What then?

She doesn't. "I don't understand."

"I don't spend enough time with you and Dave, and I leave things where you guys could get hurt"--And why are you trying to convince your daughter she should hate you? You really have gone nuts--"I let Dave play with swords and I let you read about scary things, and I..."

"But what about all the good stuff you do? Like make pizza rolls and play pretend and tell stories and buy us stuff and take us to lunch every week and never let Mom pay for it even though she's loaded?"

The sound you let out is either a scoff or a laugh; you're not sure which. This is ridiculous. Why are you even doing this? It's ridiculous, but it still steals the breath from you to hear her say these things, even if the perspective is definitely a child's. It may not be the important things she's citing, but if they're important to her, then maybe they're what really matter.

"You always, always look at all the bad stuff, but never the good and it's _stupid_." She says it just like Dave does, and you wonder if that's on purpose.

Your real therapist has been throwing around the word "pessimist" for years, but she never really put it so plainly. She's encouraged you to look on the bright side more often, but it's your daughter's telling you that you're being dumb and eating her snack pointedly like a demonstration of how you take care of her that makes you honestly start to question things.

"You would totally fight off evil ninja dinosaurs if they came and tried to hurt me and Dave. Only a good daddy would do that."

You try, for her. You think back and try to play Devil's advocate against your own earlier argument, and you're surprised to find that it's a stronger case than you thought. Like how you're in porn because it was the fastest way to a nice house--Roxy's now--and a college fund. You were secretly happy when you came down with the flu, and you suffered through it yourself because you didn't want Rox getting sick while she was pregnant, even though she was supposed to be getting an abortion that day. You're the one who made the schedule after you and Roxy broke up because you wanted your kids to have stability. You would _absolutely_ fight evil ninja dinosaurs for them, but most of all you tried to let them go because you thought you were the one who needed fighting.

It's a sign you can do better. It means you're not so hopeless that you have any excuse to leave them, to just throw in the towel. Roxy was right when she asked what was wrong with you, because in the end what you thought you were doing for them was just the fear of trying and failing to be a better man. The potential that you _might_ mess up isn't worth their losing their father. There's still one worry you have, but the risk that it could crop up isn't enough to warrant running away. Wasn't that how you probably got into this mess in the first place?

You've made your decision. You're not perfect, but they're worth fighting for. You just have to fight your demons, instead of your responsibilities. "Thanks, Doc," you say, and let yourself smile. "Never again."

You don't specify what you mean by that, but she seems to get the picture and comes over and climbs on top of you for a forced cuddle. You hold her and pet her hair and whisper a story about a brave young adventurer named Rose. Rose lives on an island full of Lovecraftian horrorterrors that she fights with her majyyks, until the twist comes and she makes a spell that tames the monsters so they're her friends.

It's nothing like the movie you remember from your childhood, but when she stares at you in wonder for the whole thing, you think that's okay.

\--------

When you show up at the school the next afternoon, you pull Roxy aside and apologize. You don't know what got into you, you say. You fucked up royally this time, but you're going to try even harder now to make up for it. You ask her if she wants to bring Dave along to the zoo and dinner, your treat. It'll take a while for her to completely forgive you for your meltdown, but she says she'll ask Dave.

Dave says yes, but on one condition. He asks you to come down to his level and take off your shades. When you do, he punches you in the nose.

"Mother _fucker_ ," you hiss, and it's nasal because you're holding your nose closed to catch the bleeding.

Roxy hands you a tissue from her purse.

"Okay, I deserved that. But we do not punch people from now on, Dave. Got that?"

He nods and gives you the biggest shit-eating grin his little face can muster, then climbs on your back and says, "Rah, horsie, rah! To the zoo!" and you don't know what the fuck you were thinking, because your kids are spoiled rotten.

\--------

Your spoiled brats end up loving the zoo, and they wrangle so much money out of you for junk food that you don't go to dinner after all.

You stay all the way until closing time and then bribe the staff to let you stay a little longer so the kids can see them put everything away. You've thoroughly won Dave's favor back for that and you get both of them in agreement to go right back to the schedule. You need to spend time with Dave after your screwup, and you get Rose to agree by promising her she still gets all of Switch Week with you.

You and Roxy exchange your usual hugs and kisses, and it's more of a comfort than you ever thought it could be.

\--------

When you get home and Dave tells you that what Rose whispered to him yesterday was, "Don't worry. I'll fix him," you're not sure whether you want to laugh or cry.

When he locks himself in his room like he always does, you go into yours and you end up doing both at once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what it is about me and making people punch Dirk in the face. I love him, really.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave has a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I meant to get this finished last night, but a friend came over, and by the time she left I was pretty much incoherent. I don't know how my typing on the computer would have been, but have a few hilariously unintelligible quotes from my phone:
> 
> "Apparebtly, fir some reasion, I have noments when I type oerfectly normally, abf then it all goes to shit. I thinkj I just typied two much tisay and mu fingers are all "nooooo" and devibging they atent't ginbat works anymnre, and nether is my brain."
> 
> and
> 
> "I thbk I'm ginna give uo ob H. 5 fir the bight and gi to bed soob."
> 
> My favorite typo of the night had to be "cinfidentialtmuty".
> 
> Anyway, I hope you forgive me. XD The fact that this is the longest chapter thus far may make up for it?

You dream only once this week, and this time it's a memory.

Roxy's crushing your hand in hers, and it's been thirteen hours because her waifish body wasn't made for this.

You ignore your exhaustion and hunger, and you've been holding in your piss for at least four of those hours, because your best friend fucking needs you. You rap about ridiculous things to distract her from the pain. You wipe the sweat from her brow, and breathe with her, and help when they tell her to push, and you pray to every deity under the sun that everything's going to be okay.

And at the end of it all, your shades are off and your pokerface is gone and you don't care, because in your arms are two fraternal twins born either side of midnight, as perfect as if they were meant to be.

\--------

It's not much yet, but you do change a few things around the place. You still let Dave have his alone time, but you actually clean off the dining room table so you can eat meals together. When he says that's boring, you make it more interesting by saying breakfast is on the couch while you both watch cartoons before school, he can still squirrel away snacks and weekend lunches in his room if he wants to, and he only has to eat at the table for dinner. He says that's a good plan, and so it becomes part of the schedule.

You keep an ear open for when he comes out of his room--something that you were regretfully terrible about before--and if it's more than just a bathroom break you ask him if he wants to play. You tone down strifes a bit and let him whale on your bokken with his and let him chase you around while you pretend to be a ninja dinosaur. You ask him if he wants you to play video games with him, and he sometimes does and sometimes doesn't. He almost always says yes to the turntables. They're too big for him, so you take the left and he takes the right, and the mixes are pretty terrible but you save them all anyway.

You ask him if he wants to bring over any friends. He's never mentioned any school friends or anything, and you've never asked. You apparently should have, because his answer is troubling.

"I guess there are a couple guys at school I sometimes hang with, but they're stupid and I don't really like them."

"I take it that means you don't want to bring them over."

"Fuck no."

You pause. "You're not cussing at school, are you?"

"I'm not stupid, Bro."

"Okay, good." You shake your head. "But we really need to broaden your vocabulary a bit, kiddo. I know 'stupid' is your favorite word and all, but at least shake it up with some synonyms."

"Some what?"

"Words that mean the same thing."

"Oh. Like what?"

"Like 'dumb', or 'imbeciles'."

"They're imbeciles."

"Good boy." You ruffle his hair. "But only say that at home, okay?"

He just responds with, "Arrrgh!" bats your hand away, then tries to fix his rad 'do. You're not sure whether to be proud or ashamed that he probably got that from you, not his mother.

"So you don't have any friends, at all, who you'd like to hang out with?" you prod again. You can't say much, since you're pretty much the definition of "loner douche", but it still worries you. Being a lone wolf may be "cool", but you'd be lying if you said it made you happy. 

"Well, I guess there's this one guy, but..." He scuffs his toe into the floor.

"But?"

"He doesn't go to the school."

Your whole body tenses, and you are suddenly ready to kill some creeper if he's trying to talk to your kid outside of the Dave-approved zones. "Where did you meet him, then?"

"The internet, duh."

You are definitely ready to kill some creeper. "And what is your 'friend' named?"

"His name is John, and he goes to that snooty private school on the other end of town, and he's pretty okay but he likes really stupid movies for old people."

You are still ready to kill some creeper. Stupid movies for old people? That just cements your theory that he actually is an older man. What are the chances that Dave would randomly find someone on the internet who lives in your town? If you take the population of people with a web connection in your city and divide it by the population of people with 'net in the whole goddamn English-speaking world... Or what if this "John" does live in town and he's specifically seeking out kids who live close by so he can try and meet with them to abduct them and kill them or rape them and....

"Can I meet him?"

You are going to cut someone. No, you are going to do much more than cut someone: You are going to fucking julienne him.

"Bro?"

"No."

"Awwww! But Broooo!"

"No."

"I'll eat green beans. I will eat ALL the green beans."

"No."

"I'll train for a bajillion hours every day."

"No."

"I'll stop saying 'stupid', except for this one time right now that I just had to say it because I was telling you I wasn't gonna say it anymore?"

" _No_ , and I don't want you talking to strangers on the internet."

"But _Broooooo_ " Dave whines, bouncing so his voice turns into a warble, "If I can't Skype with John, then I won't have _any_ friends."

Wait, what? "You Skype with this kid?"

"Uh, duh. That's what everyone who's cool does, and since you're like the coolest ever, you should already know that."

You didn't even know Dave knew what Skype was, much less had an account. Hell, you'd barely just heard of the damn thing. You'd facepalm if that was a thing you did, because wow, Dirk. Wow. Hard to fake a video chat. "Can you Skype with John right now? I'd like to meet him."

Dave practically squeals and runs to get his laptop, and with it one of the old webcams that he'd apparently ganked from the box you'd stuffed it in when you upgraded to a professional camera. The little shit. "So we met on that movie forum for the giant theater on 4th Street, and I was just there to troll people ironically, like, 'Oh man, this dumb movie is so great,' and everyone else is like 'Oh my god you have the worst taste ever,' and they're all trying to argue with me and I'm like 'Hahaha suckers,' but then this one kid is like, 'You are like my movie soulmate and that's the best movie in the world,' and I'm all, 'Is this douchenugget for real?' and he's like 'Oh man have you seen _Adaptation_ yet, because it's got Nic Cage in it and Nic Cage is the best,' and I'm all whoaslowdownthereNicCageareyoufuckingserious, andhe'slikeyeahandI'mlike..." He has to stop there to breathe. 

You are thinking two things: One, that your kid talks like a valley girl chipmunk on speed when he's excited, and you really need to fix that. Two, that you are really starting to wonder what it is with your life and movies lately.

"...but then me and John started talking and he actually turned out to be pretty cool, even though he's a huge fucking derpmeister," he gets Skype turned on, and immediately invites someone to a video chat, "and we've been talking for like forever now but nobody ever asked if we wanted to meet up before and now you did and it's really cool and oh hi, John." Dave immediately straightens up, adjusts his shades, and snaps into his pokerface like an Army Private at attention. His voice is about an octave lower when he says, "Yo, Egderp, what's up?"

This John kid doesn't seem to take any notice of the change, because he's looking off at the edge of the frame. "Whooooah, Dave! Is that your bro?"

"Hey," you say.

This cannot possibly be a real child. His eyes might be bigger than Rose's when she's making The Cute Face, and they're magnified further by his probably inch-thick glasses. He's got teeth like a rabbit's and the biggest, loudest mouth you've ever seen-slash-heard, and you think Dave must've gotten the hyper thing from him because he's a ball of pure energy. Out of all the children you have encountered, he is possibly the most sickeningly adorable of the lot.

You can appreciate the irony of the fact that Sugar Rush Dave switched off just as John the Living Pixie Stix turned on. It's like they are unable to exist in the same pocket of spacetime without making the world explode.

Before you know it, you've folded and John Egbert is invited to your place, because Dave lives "in this badass condo at the top of a _skyscraper_ , and I keep telling John that it has it's own dojo, and he doesn't believe me, so I've gotta prove it." 

Also, you want the first meeting to be in your own territory.

When the doorbell rings, this cannonball shoots past you and straight into Dave's gut. Before you know it, the two of them are wrestling on the linoleum, then Dave squirms out of the hold, grabs John's hand, and drags him straight back in the direction of the promised dojo.

You look back at the doorway.

A man clad in a suit and fedora is standing there with proud, ramrod posture. He hands you an index card inscribed with printer-perfect lettering. "HELLO. I AM JOHN'S FATHER, BUT YOU MAY CALL ME MR. EGBERT. I AM SO PROUD TO SEE THAT HE HAS MADE A CLOSE FRIEND HIS OWN AGE. MAY I COME IN?"

When you raise an eyebrow at the display, he takes out another card and writes a second message:

"I HOPE YOU DO NOT THINK ME RUDE FOR WISHING TO MONITOR MY SON SO CLOSELY, BUT I CANNOT ALLOW HIM TO REMAIN AT AN UNFAMILIAR HOME UNTIL I AM SURE THAT IT IS SAFE."

You completely get the sentiment, so you shrug and let him in.

"MAY I ASK WITH WHOM I AM MAKING MY ACQUAINTANCE?"

"Dirk Strider. Just Dirk is okay." You offer a hand, and he shakes it as firmly as if this were a professional interview instead of a casual one between two dads.

He follows you in a tour around the condo, scrutinizing. You feel secure in the fact that you CPS-proofed the place on move-in after the scare in the last one, and had enough presence of mind to clean up any mess before the Egberts arrived. There's nothing to find. Even the studio looks like an innocuous guest bedroom when you're not using it. You flash a two-fingered salute to Cal on the way past. 

Mr. Egbert seems satisfied enough. You ask him if he wants anything to drink. He accepts a water and asks if he is allowed to smoke, which surprises you only until you see his expensive pipe. He takes his blazer off and rolls up his sleeves, and you both sit at the dining room table and smoke and leave the kids to do their thing.

"YOU HAVE A FASCINATING HOME, MR. STRIDER. JOHN SEEMS TO LIKE IT."

If John's animated exclamations at every tiny detail are any indication, Mr. Egbert is probably right.

"I ASSUME THAT DAVID WILL EVENTUALLY WANT TO VISIT JOHN, AS WELL. I AM AFRAID THAT OUR HOME IS RATHER MORE MODEST, AND I HOPE THAT IT WILL BE TO YOUR TASTE."

You don't correct him on the "David" thing any more than you do the "Mr. Strider" thing. Dave will do that adamantly enough the first time the guy says it to him. "No worries, dude."

He cocks his head slightly at that, but you don't take it back. You're not gonna front being a proper gentleman for anyone, especially not someone you're going to have to see multiple times.

You clarify. "The place we lived before this was pretty unimpressive. Tiny apartment, only one bedroom. When you've slept on a futon for a couple years, you don't judge."

"I SEE. QUITE AN UPGRADE."

"Yeah."

It goes on like that for a while. You think Mr. Egbert is kind of strange. Not for the note cards or the politeness, but for the fact that he looks and acts absolutely nothing like his son. You wonder if John's adopted. If so, the kid's terrifying levels of innate cute had to have been an asset.

"Bro!" Dave yells from halfway across the room.

"Yeah?"

"Can we use your turntables?"

You take that as an excuse to end the dull conversation, and you get the kids set up to mix. You let John take your usual side, and he touches the thing like it's sacred.

"Whoooaaaaaaaaaaahhhh. This is nothing like playing piano."

"I told you! Cool, right?"

The mixes they make are ear-splittingly horrendous, and it's so bad it's almost good. Mr. Egbert looks completely baffled, and that makes the whole thing funnier. 

"ARE YOU QUITE POSITIVE THIS IS HOW THIS CONTRAPTION IS SUPPOSED TO WORK?"

You have to stifle a laugh, because in the same way you're not putting on your polite face for this guy, he sure as fuck isn't going to get you to crack your usual mask. You know he probably thinks you're as weird as you think he is, and that's fine by you. Any unspoken tension between you mostly fades with the magical uniting force of dadhood, and as you watch your kid playing with a friend as you stand by a sorta normal dude who at least doesn't seem to be judging you as completely inadequate, you think that maybe you can do this thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you can see this the way I coded it, because I will never stop laughing at my own stupid joke that Dad writes in Helvetica (or Arial on Windows. Boo.)
> 
> The weird details of the Crocker-Egbert household will be explained soon.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet the Crocker-Egberts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeez, that took longer than I thought, especially for such a relatively short chapter.
> 
> There will probably not be a new chapter tomorrow, as I am going to be out part or most of the day. Also, I need a break. I should be back on schedule Saturday or Sunday.

It is now the weekend. Rose is over, and Dave wants to introduce her to his friend, so you have taken Mr. Egbert's offer to bring both kids over for a visit. 

The place is so normal that it's wrapped all the way around to being weird again. From the way it's a cookie-cutter replica of the ones around it, to how the neighbors all seem to be out mowing their lawns or washing their cars, to the fact that there is a _literal white picket fence_ , you have never felt such a surreal sense of culture shock in your life.

You lack words. You would wonder if this is how Mr. Egbert went mute, except that you already know how that happened. Dave got all the deets about the Stepford family from John ages ago, and he speedmunked them all to you and Rose earlier. 

You laughed at first when he told you it was a side-effect of adolescent rhubarb poisoning, but apparently rhubarb-seizures are actually a thing that can happen. You learn something new every day. 

To be fair, the family itself is actually weird in the normal sense instead of normal in the weird sense. In fact, the dynamics of it are impressively more convoluted than yours. For one, John is not adopted, but Mr. Egbert is. The man is, surprisingly, younger than you are, and in an almost polar shift from your relationship with Dave, he's actually John's adoptive brother. His (their) mother, go figure, goes by Nanna. 

You guess you can buy the "Dad" thing. You can't exactly say much about having a misleading title, and the guy just looks like a Dad, but Nanna? You wonder why anyone would take a title that makes them sound that much older than they really are, until you come face-to-face with Nanna herself.

Jane Crocker is the actual, legitimate face of the Betty Crocker corporation, a face that until now you had assumed had been fabricated. You'd had no idea that they had used an actual person as the model when they'd updated Betty's look a few years back, but when you see her in the flesh there's no doubting why. That "nostalgic grandma's house cookie smell" everyone's always talking about? The cute frilly apron and the cute, flippy, just-greying hair and the cute rosy cheeks and the cute tiny stature? They are all there. If John Egbert is the most adorable child in the world, then Jane Crocker is the most adorable not-a-grandmother. Your first impression is that she's probably very pleasant, but very ordinary like Mr. Egbert, and your first impressions are very rarely wrong.

When she notices you, she gently guides her elder son to continue her baking, but only after discreetly covering her hand in flour so she can leave a bright handprint on the back of his pristine blazer. He doesn't notice until he takes it off to keep from overheating in the balmy kitchen, and then his shoulders slump. They slump even further when he tries to write a note. He sighs heavily, heats the card up with his lighter to reveal the invisible ink, then holds it up to say, "THAT IS VERY FUNNY, MOTHER."

She has a laugh like the chirps of one of those precious tiny owls. "Don't mind Jude. He can be a dash stuffy at times," she says as she holds out her clean hand to you. 

You check for buzzers before you shake, and eye her a bit skeptically.

She beams. "A quick one, are you? I love a good challenge. Feel free to call me Nanna if you want--most everyone does--or if that makes you uncomfortable, you can just call me Jane." Her voice sounds too innocent for her words.

"Hey, Jane. I'm Dirk."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Dirk. Cookie?" She swishes her hand and seems to conjure one out of thin air, before holding it out to you.

You decide you fucking love this woman.

Then you realize she just pulled the salt-instead-of-sugar trick on you. Damn, she's good.

She claps delightedly. "Welcome to the family. Let me get you a slice of cake, and we'll go check up on the children. I promise it'll be normal cake this time."

It is normal cake. It is also possibly the most orgasmic thing you have ever tasted. 

You find out that John hates cake. And cookies. And brownies. And pie. And any other kind of delicious confectionary. You are convinced that he is insane, though you do have to admit that something about the Crocker company has always kind of freaked you out, so you can see why he took his "father's" surname. You are conflicted, because you think that the contrived homey mask of the company was your problem with it, but one of the coolest ladies you have ever met is a major part of that image. Oh well. You have cake. All is well with the world.

"Bro." Dave throws himself across your lap. "Rose is trying to steal my best friend."

"Is that so?" Goddamn, this motherfucking cake. You attempt not to drool on your son.

"Yeah. Rose isn't allowed to be part of our group because she's a girl, but John was like, 'Sure, you can play with us!' with that big derpy grin, and Rose is totally taunting me with it."

"That's what you get for trying to discriminate based on gender." You come very close to drooling on your son.

"Don't worry, dear," says Jane with that soothing grandma voice, "John is friends with practically everyone. I seriously doubt anyone can 'steal' him."

Dave looks completely horrified. "Everyone?"

"Oh, no. He's jealous. You got a boyfriend, squirt?"

Dave looks even more horrified. "Ewww, no! Gross, Bro!"

"First gender, and now sexuality? What has your mother been teaching you?" You stuff your mouth full of cake to soak up the drool. It is a counterproductive endeavor.

Jane is owl-hooting again. "Why don't you go join them, instead of alienating yourself further?"

"I'm not turning into an alien..."

"It means..." you and Jane start at the same time. You nod for her to go. Leaves your mouth free.

"It means to make yourself into an outcast; put yourself out of the group like you are an alien to them."

"Oh."

She gets you more cake, and has a second plate with a smaller slice for Dave. She also brought you a napkin, the beautiful woman. She goes back into the kitchen to get a slice for Rose, and a packet of Gushers for John. You're not sure why the kid picked those as his sweet of choice when his Nanna is a fucking baker, but you suppose you can't judge anyone's tastes in anything, given some of your more unorthodox preferences.

You have never experienced a sudden irresistible urge to befriend someone before, but you want Jane to be your friend. This is a thing that needs to happen, but you make a mental note to add another day to your workout schedule. You are going to need it.

You regretfully set your cake down for a moment so you can hoist Dave up and stick him back with his friends in their little powwow on the carpet. The spongy block of pure ecstasy seems to placate him, and he goes back to playing when they're all finished. Thank fucking God.

Now that there isn't a small child on your lap, Jane starts up a conversation. "So, Dirk, tell me about yourself."

"What's to tell?"

"Interests, hobbies, occupation?"

The third one is out of the question, but the second has the potential for some serious showing off. "I do martial arts. Dabble in robotics. Spin sick beats. Ponder the meaning of life." You smirk. You're only half-kidding.

She likes the joke. Score. "Have you come up with any conclusions on the last of those?"

"I can't tell you. Causal spoilers and all. Smiting would be involved."

She titters into her hand. "I see. We can't have that!"

You shake your head solemnly. "It's a rough burden to bear, being the sole carrier of the universe's secrets."

"I imagine so." She sighs melodramatically. "What have I done to win the honor of speaking with you, oh all-knowing one?"

You wave a hand dismissively. "Well, I don't just talk to anyone, as I'm sure you can guess." It might be funny if it wasn't so true.

"Oh, I imagine."

"But you have intrigued me, Jane Crocker. There is a mystery that I have not yet solved."

"Is that so? And what would that be?"

The stare you give her is dead serious. "Your secret recipe."

She swings her head to give you an equally stern look, although her cheek is twitching just slightly as if she's having to fight to keep it up. "It is a secret I will take to the grave."

"Then I have failed in my holy mission, thwarted by the inhuman baking powers of Betty Crocker's puppeteer. I have dishonored my family. Tell the children I love them, Jane, for when I return home, I must take my own life with my blade." You mime plunging your katana into your gut, then pulling it to the side. You collapse against Jane's shoulder, your voice cracking as if you are on the throes of your deathbed. "You have defeated me, vile sorceress."

That breaks her serious facade, and she shoves you off of her, trying to stifle her giggles. "You're ridiculous!"

"So says the woman who pulled off three spectacular pranks in the space of ten minutes."

She grins mischievously, and you kind of just want to pinch her cheeks. "Ah, but you see Dirk, the honor of my family was also at stake."

"The Crocker family?"

"Crocker isn't my real name, you know, no more than I'm actually John's Nanna. It's just an honorary. I'm actually a Sassacre." When you don't seem to recognize the name, she continues, "My father--at least my adoptive father--was Colonel Sassacre, one of the most legendary pranksters of all time."

"So you don't know your birth name?"

"No, unfortunately, so I was stuck with Sassacre from adoption until marriage. But it's not exactly a flattering name, and I don't want people to _expect_ me to prank them, or that would be no fun."

"I expected it, and you seemed to enjoy getting me, anyway."

"What can I say? This prankster's spirit cannot be tampered. But regardless, when they offered the Crocker name to me, I took it. Better than Sassacre, and better than keeping my married name."

"I don't know. Jane Sassacre. I kind of like it. It suits you."

She groans.

"So, what's with the Nanna thing, anyway?"

"Well, Jude and John don't exactly look like brothers and I had John fairly late, so a lot of people assumed. It kind of became a running joke, like just another little prank. It can be fun to try and explain it to people and watch them get confused." She smirks.

"Like you confused me?"

"Mmn-hmm. You are quite bright, aren't you?"

"I'd like to think so."

"It's refreshing."

"Yeah, same to you."

You talk for a while, and it's the first time you've enjoyed a sizeable intellectual conversation with someone since you broke things off with Roxy. Turns out you don't have to work to make friends with Jane, after all. She was trying to impress you with her showy display in the kitchen.

Jane is fascinating. You also learn that she wasn't originally planning on being a baker, only that it worked out that way when she realized she loved teaching it to Jude. Her childhood dream was to become a detective, and she has a degree in criminal justice. Unfortunately, when she tried to enter the field she realized she was unable to stay objective with the victims' loved ones. Along with her love for mystery, she's a huge fan of monster stories, and you tell her Rose is, too. She gets excited about that, and says it might be a good way for her to bond with your daughter. The fact that she's so eager to do so is comforting.

Rose herself has been thoroughly integrated into Dave's and John's friendship circle, and John is excitedly trying to show them some magic tricks he learned from his Nanna. He asks if Rose has Pesterchum and she does. He apparently already has Dave's handle, and has been talking to him there since long before Skype came out and they started having video chats. It's yet another program that you had no clue your children were using. You really need to monitor their internet usage, or something.

It's getting dark when you finally say your goodbyes. Jane has given you her Pesterchum name, as well. You don't want to give her your business handle, (Revealing that you go by "plushRump" might slightly taint her first impression.) so you tell her you'll set up an account and message her when you get home.

You call yourself "timaeusTestified", and when she asks what it means you tell her about his theories on the meaning of life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Jane. I really, really love Jane.
> 
> Also, I am apparently still having typo issues, because I initially typed "the meaning of life" as "the meaning of lufifle". I don't even.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your life is really complicated sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I really need to stop giving time estimates. Something always comes up. I was sick as a dog yesterday and ended up sleeping most of the day. Ugh.

It is currently the night of Saturday, September 6, 2003.

The children went to bed a while ago, and Jane has just logged off after your hours-long first Pesterchum conversation with her. You are far too restless to sleep, as you often are at this time of night. 

You aren't sure what you expected after these past couple of weeks. Sure, you didn't exactly want the dreams, but the sleep was nice. Maybe this one night of insomnia is just a temporary regression, you think. It isn't as if you don't have a reason for it. You realized while talking to Jane that you'd never told Roxy that you were taking the kids over there, and you're worried that you're going to get into another fight over it. You would call her, but she goes out on Fridays and Saturdays while you have the kids, and you don't want to bother her. You'd Pester her, but she blocked your old account and you think it'd be poor form for you to circumvent that with the new one. You'd email her, but you're pretty sure she also has at least five of your six email addresses blocked on both her personal and work accounts. That's got you worried, so of course you can't sleep. It'll be better tomorrow.

That'd be a much more compelling argument if you weren't always worried about something.

You do things that involve small movements, let your hands shake without shaking. A stitch here, a turn of a screwdriver here, the tap-tap-tapping of your keys on the keyboard while you program a new AI. The last just reminds you that you'd rather be typing to Roxy.

Sewing and tinkering aren't helping.

The dojo is dark except for the city lights filtering in through the twice-reinforced windows. Your movements are fluid, refined, silent. Your body is a well-oiled machine, precise and electric. You go through the programmed motions until the sun comes up, trying to push the anxiety out with every breath and practiced pose.

\--------

It is now Sunday, September 7, 2003.

You text Roxy before lunch to tell her about the trip to see John. She is a bit annoyed, as expected. You probably would be, too, if she'd done the same thing. She grills you about it for a bit, makes sure you didn't just leave the kids at some strange house, but she forgives you easily enough when you apologize, tell her it won't happen again, and assure her that you checked these people out and kept an eye on the kids the whole time. You feel a bit ridiculous for worrying as much about her reaction as you did.

Lunch itself goes well, and the kids are very excited to tell their mom all about their new friend. Dave probably reminds Rose about 12 times not to go see _his_ friend without him, and you keep having to remind him that John is now Rose's friend, too.

"But he was my friend first."

"You're the one who wanted to introduce her, lil' man. You've gotta deal with the consequences now."

Your son is remarkably good at looking despondent. It would be heartbreaking if it wasn't so hilarious.

"Dave," Roxy says, "if it's okay with your dad, would you like it if all of us met up sometime this week and went over to visit John together? I'd like to meet him and his family, but I don't know where he lives."

You think Dave is giving you pleading eyes when he leans halfway across the table, though he seems to have forgotten that he's wearing sunglasses. He relaxes with a dramatic sigh of relief when you agree. 

Rose rolls her eyes at him and daintily eats her food.

"Am I ever gonna get to see John without Rose there?" Dave asks after a while.

Rose looks over at him. "But Dave, that wouldn't be fair. John is _my_ friend as well." 

"But we can't do guy things while you're there! And you and John don't even have anything in common!"

"We both like magic."

"But John actually _knows_ that his magic is fake."

You see the way Rose's body tenses like a spring before she tries to jump him, and you've made it around the table and held her before she can try to beat the snot out of her brother. You lift her under the armpits and set her in the booth next to her mother, switch her plate and yours, and sit down deftly next to Dave. "You two play nice, or neither of you are going to go see John. I don't think the kid wants you fighting over him."

You get a "But BROOOO/DAAADDYYY" in stereo, and you raise your hand calmly in a motion for them to stop. To your surprise, the gesture actually works to quiet them. They're staring at you.

"Dave, look. I know John is your first best friend, and you want him to think of you as his best friend, too. I get it. But you can't go getting all possessive of the kid, or he ain't gonna want to be your friend at all."

"He isn't?"

"From what his Nanna said, John's got a lot of friends. He's gonna want to be able to hang out with them, too. And now Rose is one of those friends. Wouldn't you be mad if John tried to stop you from doing things you wanted to do?"

"...Yeah, but..."

"No buts. This isn't any different." You wait to see if he's done, and if the way he's gone back to picking at his food is any indication, he is. "Now apologize to your sister for calling her magic fake."

"But it..."

"Apologize."

"Sorry, Rose."

She huffs and finishes her food.

You catch Roxy's eye for a moment from across the table. She immediately looks down at the table and her mouth blossoms into a smile. You're not quite sure what she's so happy about.

You get the kids talking about classes, and it seems to calm them back down. Rose is the top of her class, as expected. Dave's trying to consolidate his cool reputation with the fact that he's smarter than most of his peers. 

"Nothing to consolidate, lil' man. You're cool just as you are, and failing your classes won't make you any cooler. You'll end up having to stay back a grade, then you'll only be cool to younger kids."

"But some of the other kids tried to call me a nerd. I told them they were just mad because I made better grades on them in the last test."

"I can guarantee that's what it was. Don't pay 'em any mind, kiddo. You do your thing, keep being awesome, and then you can learn lots of badass shit for smart people, like how I learned robotics and your mom learned programming."

Roxy's smile gets wider.

"But I don't know what I want to learn."

"That's cool. You've got a while to decide, and when you figure it out, I'll be here to help you out best I can."

He seems pretty happy about that.

Roxy pulls you aside for a moment before you go to take Rose home for Switch Week. "You were really great back there, you know that?"

You stare at her. "You think?"

"It's not perfect, but that's okay. I'm not a perfect Mom."

"You're a damn good one, though. I probably wouldn't have pulled that stunt before if I didn't trust that you could do better than I can."

She blushes a bit. "Just...you've really turned things around since last weekend. I just thought you should know, since you were so worried about it before."

You nod. "Thanks, Rox. I'm trying."

"You look different. Happier. I haven't seen this side of you in years. Proud of you, Dirk." She cups your cheek softly, and when she kisses you this time, it's a nervous little thing on the lips. Before you can react, she's taken Dave's hand, said her goodbyes, and left.

You're left stunned, and when that night rolls around, you find you still can't sleep.

\-------- 

It is Monday, September 8, 2003.

Rose is at school, and you are telling your therapist about the kiss. She says it's probably best to wait to see if Roxy tries to push it further before you take any action. And if she does, you ask? Do you want to get back together with Roxy? No, you say. Then you'll have to do something about it. 

You hope this was a one-time thing. You don't want to break Roxy's heart again.

\--------

It is suddenly the evening of Tuesday, March 11, 1997.

You have two beautiful kids and a beautiful girlfriend, and you are miserable.

Your beautiful girlfriend wants to be your beautiful wife, but you kind of wish she could go back to just being your beautiful best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be prepared for something a little different next chapter. :3


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to 1997.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's probably pretty obvious by the context that this isn't going to be the feel-good chapter of the year. So yeah. Keep that in mind.

Roxy found the receipt for the ring, and you don't know what to do. 

She's apologizing to you for messing up whatever your proposal plans were, but that's not why you're upset. She looks confused and a little hurt when you tell her that you need time to think. 

She asks if you're mad at her, says it was an accident. 

You tell her it's not that, and you lock yourself in your office so you have a moment to think.

The ring is a delicate little thing, with the purest pink diamonds your money could buy. She'd love it. She deserves it and every cent you spent on it.

You are such an idiot.

You're lucky she doesn't know about the reservation you'd booked for the night, or the tux you'd rented, or the limo you'd reserved with her favorite champagne. Two of these you have already canceled and one of them is in the closet in here, mocking you, until you can take it back tomorrow.

She doesn't know that you've memorized her favorite style of wedding dress (the close-cut ones that show off her figure and sparkle like stars), discreetly found out her favorite flower (miniature calla lilies), that you know what song she'd most likely want to play at the reception for the slow dance ("Aria de Mezzo Carattare" from Final Fantasy VI, because--and you quote--"Fuck the police. Video game music."), that you know she'd want an outdoor wedding, but would insist on umbrellas and lots of awnings to try and thwart Murphy's Law.

If only you knew how to give her the one thing that really matters.

You don't want to do this. You don't want to hurt her. It was supposed to be easy. It was supposed to be the perfect love story: The two best friends who've known each other for as long as you can remember fall in love and get married and have kids and live happily ever after. So what if the order's a little off?

It was your therapist who called you out on it. When she asked you yesterday what you'd been up to, you almost hadn't told her about the upcoming proposal, but it was too close and you were freaking out and you folded. She asked you why you hadn't mentioned it before, and when you couldn't answer she asked you why you sounded so nervous.

"It's just nerves, doc. Isn't any guy nervous when he's about to propose?"

She called bullshit. The fact that she's always been willing to do that is why you still see her after all these years. 

She asked how long you've been planning this. You said months. She said there has to be a reason you've kept something so big to yourself all this time.

You still couldn't answer, and you could tell she knew what it meant without your having to say a word. 

She asked if you were happy about it. "Please be honest," she insisted.

You took a deep breath, and you said no.

She asked if you didn't say anything because you were afraid she'd try and stop you from going through with it.

You said yes.

She told you that going through with it would be a huge mistake.

You said you know.

She said if you have to leave Roxy, then you'd be better off doing it before Roxy's even more invested in the relationship.

"But we've been together for years. We have children. We have a home together. We might as well be married already. And I love Roxy, I really do, more than I love anyone else in the world. Marriage is just the logical next step."

Logical, but not right. Not if you can't give her what she needs, and she needs you to want this. 

You told your therapist everything. You told her how you love Roxy but you're not in love with her, how the kissing was nice but there was no passion, how the sex felt good but never right, how you still have trouble thinking in terms of "girlfriend". You told her the way you feel like a broken mirror next to her, when she gives you these looks that say "I love you" and all you can give back is a facsimile, how you feel like a parrot when you say the actual words in that context. You told her that you'd give Roxy the world, so why is your heart not included in that equation? Why is it so hard, when you've tried and tried and tried again to make it sincere because you want to make her happy?

"You can't force this, Dirk, and you can't go through with tomorrow if you don't want to hurt her more in the end. It's not fair to you, and it's not fair to Roxy."

And you knew she was right.

You still know, but that doesn't make it any easier when you close the ring box, stand, and walk back out into the living room.

Your shades are off when you take Roxy's hands, and it hurts to see the way her face lights up then almost immediately drops when she sees that you're not kneeling, and you're not smiling.

"Roxy," you say. (How is your heart clenching now when it was always so numb?) "I can't." (How is it breaking for her when it was never there for her in the first place?) "I'm so sorry."

She doesn't understand at first. You can't what?

"I can't do this. It wouldn't be right. I've been coasting, like a ghost mostly floating through, numb when I'm next to you--" and what the fuck are you doing, Dirk? Don't rap now, you asshole. "...I'm sorry. I'm really nervous." No shit, Sherlock. "Roxy, I've been trying. I really wish this could work out, that we could just be happy, but there's something wrong with me. I think I must be broken or something, not to be head over heels for a woman like you, and..."

"Shut up, Dirk." She sounds furious.

You do.

"Who's the ring for?"

You raise your hands. "It's not that, Rox. I haven't been cheating, I swear. It was supposed to be for you. I had everything planned, but I...can't." It sounds so stupid. It makes no sense. What kind of an argument is "I can't," when she's right there in front of you and she doesn't understand?

"What did I do wrong?"

"Nothing. You were perfect."

"'It's not you, it's me,' huh?"

You slump into the couch with your head in your hands. You can't look at her.

"Cold feet, huh? Planning on proposing, but you just can't take that last step?"

"It's not that."

"Afraid of commitment?"

"Definitely not that."

"And there's nobody else? You had better not be lying to me, because so help me God I will hack every email and text you have ever sent..."

"There's nobody else, Roxy."

"Then what _is_ it?"

"I wish I was in love with you, but I'm not." And it's the worst possible thing you could say, the cruelest, the most blunt, the most heartless, but you were never the most tactful man, so why start now? You could almost laugh at how badly this is going, at how the whole situation is so fucking ironic, because you're damned if you do and damned if you don't.

"This can't be happening. You can't be serious. Are you telling me you've been leading me on this whole time? That you've been lying to me?"

You're back to numb when you say, "Yes."

"So all this time, I've been giving you _everything_ and you've felt _nothing_?"

"It wasn't nothing. It just wasn't the same."

"Then why, Dirk? Why did you do all of this, if you weren't going to mean it?"

"Because you're my best friend."

And yeah, that makes it all better, for sure. That gets you a slap and a grab and a shake and a hell of a beating to your chest because Roxy hits _hard_ , and all you can do about it is to wrap her up in your arms and hold her until she devolves into wracking sobs and then nothing at all. 

"Go away," she says.

"I do love you, Rox."

"Don't. Just go."

So you go. You grab a duffel bag with some clothes and some essentials and the ring and the suit, and you leave and you don't come back, because you don't know what else to do.

You move into a shitty little apartment because part of you hopes you can work it out and go back home, and you miss your kids, and you hate the way she's put up a wall between you so you can't say a single word to try and fix things. Not that you could fix things, anyway. Not without loving her back.

The next time you hear from her is months later, and she tells you she'd always had a feeling something was wrong and didn't want to believe it. She says it's funny, isn't it, how sometimes perfect can be too perfect? She says you always knew what to do to make her happy, that you never just had those moments where you were so punch drunk that you started making stupid mistakes. You always acted with your mind, and never with your heart. You were too calculated, too cold. She said you didn't always seem all there, that sometimes it felt like she was trying to love a wall.

You don't have much to say to that, because it's all true. You never went through the honeymoon phase. It was just comfortable between you, the way you knew each other inside and out. It seemed only natural to kiss back, when after years of friendship she kissed you that first time. It seemed only natural to follow when she guided you to the bedroom. It was worth it when you held her and touched her and told her she was beautiful, to see how happy she was and feel the way she melted against you. But even from the first time, you saw the way she came undone, how it consumed her whole being, while you looked at her with full lucidity, manipulating her body with the same care you'd use on circuitry. At the same time, you were the programmed one, the precise machine that knew just what to do, but which seemed incapable of understanding the full impact of its actions.

You're about to try and apologize again, tell her she deserves so much better, when she asks you if you're gay.

You're not sure how to respond to that. What? Why would she think that? That came out of fucking left field.

She starts citing things, stupid little things like your preoccupation with always looking clean and put together, and your obsession with your damn hair. She says you've got more products than she does and you're more finicky about hygiene than she is with your stupid showers that use all the hot water. She mentions how you always know what to say, like you understand women, and _no straight guy_ understands women that well.

And you tell her that's ridiculous. None of that shit is a real indicator of a person's sexuality. It's all stereotyping, and you're frankly offended that she'd be giving into that bullshit, much less using it to prove something about you.

She says, fine. Explain the puppets with the penis noses.

That...that's a bit harder to justify.

And that time she caught you jacking off to gay porn and you called it your "experimental phase".

Uh, yeah, about that...

Or the couple times you really got off from her topping you with toys.

You tell her you got off perfectly well from topping her without toys, and you have the offspring to prove it.

So why was she the one who initiated sex almost 90% of the time?

Err.

She says either you admit it was her vagina that was the problem, or that you're saying it was the rest of her.

You say that's not fair, and her trying to force you into admitting something like that with guilt is a low blow, especially when it's not true.

She hangs up on you.

You think of all of the things you could have said, about how you're a damned porn star. It's your job. Of course you're not just gonna jump straight into sex all the time. You think of how you wish you could have reminded her that a fetish isn't the same as an orientation, and that there's such a thing as bisexuality. Yet it strikes you that the idea that sexuality could have had even the slightest thing to do with it isn't a thought that had ever occurred to you. You'd just figured there was something wrong with you, that you were incapable of feeling anything beyond friendship, that sex was just sex to you. You don't know if it would have been any different, had Roxy been a man.

You talk to your therapist about it. It's an awkward conversation, but she's a champ about it. It freaks you out a bit, when she guides you into uncovering things you'd denied in yourself because you were with Roxy and nobody else mattered. You get this uncomfortable, foreign knot in your gut when she asks you to imagine touching and being touched by an attractive man, particularly one you're very close to emotionally. You have to back out of that line of thought quickly, because it comes too easily, like this imaginary perfect guy has been living in your head all this time without your consent. You've always really disliked the feeling that there are things happening in your head that you don't know about, and it disturbs the living fuck out of you. You still don't think you're completely gay, but after some prodding you reluctantly admit you probably have at least a slight preference towards men. 

You don't tell Roxy this. Even though she'd been right in that she'd picked up on something you'd totally missed, you are not going to let her think of you as some damn walking stereotype. You're an individual, and you are too fucking cool for that, and you have perfectly good reasons for being the way you are. Your hair is awesome, men can use products if they damn well please, you just really fucking like showers, and women aren't any goddamn harder to understand than men are.

You may be a little bitter.

You finally get Roxy to agree to let you talk to her again when you say you at least still want to be a father to the kids. Things are strained, but you're trying. You know she's still hurting, and you're still a little mad at her for trying to back you into a corner, and you only see each other when you have to. 

You feel pretty alone in the world without her, and you really wish you could just fix things, go back to the way things were and fall in love with her like you were supposed to in the first place.

Almost six years pass and you never quite manage to make it right again.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Girls suck, moustaches are magical, and nobody quite knows what Jude is thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **NOTE: I am not happy with this chapter, and am currently in the process of almost completely rewriting it. The new version will be posted at the same time as Ch. 10, so if you wanna skip this one and wait, feel free.**
> 
> Keeping the same atmosphere consistently from chapter to chapter? That's for squares.
> 
> Or something. I don't know. 
> 
> Have a much less depressing chapter. It's also probably way too short, given the wait, but eh. That's how it wanted to go. Next one should be up much more quickly. Only reason this one took so long is I got sick for over a week, then spent two days playing through OFF. XD

It is now 2003 again.

To be precise, it is Wednesday, September 10, 2003, and you are starting to understand how Dave feels.

"Girls. Who needs 'em?" you say to your son, conspiratorially.

He sighs heavily, "I sure don't."

Rose and John are playing magicians, shooting "spells" at each other as they basically tear the place apart. John's wearing this ridiculous fake moustache to "get into his magician persona", and his magic has a tendency to trigger pranks he's set up around the house. Rose is chanting incantations. You're not quite sure how she's managing to pronounce some of them, but they sound mildly horrifying, especially coupled with the fact that she's currently surrounded by the dark smoke of a smoke pellet. 

You would probably be really entertained by all this, except that Roxy has hit it off with Jane, and the two of them are having "girl talk" in the kitchen. 

You're not jealous. You have no idea what is being implied here, but it sure as fuck isn't jealousy.

"Bro?"

"Yeah?"

"I thought I wasn't supposed to say bad things about girls?"

"I give you a pass for this conversation. But only this conversation, got it? After we stop chatting, girls are awesome again and nobody is the wiser."

"Girls are stupid."

You snort. Just barely.

"And dumb. And imbeciles."

You pat his head amusedly. 

John makes a strange little "eep" sound and suddenly reigns in his playing, and you realize that the front door has opened, and his "Dad" has returned home from his 9-5. Jude looks at the state of the house and the smoke still wafting down from the upstairs balcony, and just shakes his head and hangs up his coat. He pulls out a card and writes in large letters so John can read. "PLEASE BE CAREFUL, AND CLEAN UP WHEN YOU ARE FINISHED."

John makes a winsome little look and says, "Okay, Dad."

"ROSE?"

"Yes, sir."

You've never had someone who wasn't you, Roxy, or a teacher try and be parental to one of your kids, especially not with you right there. Did he not see you? "I was watching them, and Rose knows to clean up her own messes."

He looks at you questioningly, with that same curious head-tilt as before. "I MEANT NO DISRESPECT, MR. STRIDER, THOUGH I ADMIT THAT I DO FIND IT UNUSUAL THAT YOU SAT IDLY AND ALLOWED THEM TO GROW SO ROWDY."

"Is 'unusual' just another word for 'irresponsible'? They ain't hurting anything, so long as they put everything back when they're done. Let the rugrats play."

"I MEANT 'UNUSUAL' TO MEAN 'UNUSUAL'. MOTHER IS THE SAME WAY. SHE HAS A TENDENCY TO NOT ONLY CONDONE, BUT ENCOURAGE MISCHIEF. IS DAVE BEING HELD FROM PLAYING WITH THE OTHERS?"

You don't ask if he's calling you a hypocrite. You aren't sure if he's purposefully making jabs at your parenting skills, or you're just being overly defensive. Either way, you wish he wouldn't talk around your son. "Why don't you ask Dave? He's capable of answering."

"DAVE?"

Dave shrugs. "Nah, Mr. Egbert. I wanted to sit with Bro."

Jude looks back at you. "ARE YOU HIS ELDER BROTHER? HE HAS CALLED YOU THAT A FEW TIMES SINCE WE MET. I WAS UNDER THE IMPRESSION THAT YOU WERE HIS AND ROSE'S FATHER."

"I am their father. I was under the impression that you were John's adoptive elder brother."

"I AM THAT. I WAS JUST ASKING FOR CLARIFICATION."

By this point, Rose and John have both stopped and are watching the exchange. You're pretty sure Mr. Egbert is not attempting to ruffle your feathers, but you're pretty impressed that someone can manage to make you feel slightly cornered with almost everything he says by complete accident. Maybe it's just a difference in approach. Or maybe you're still a bit shaken up from the past couple of weeks. The fact that you're really not sure is a bit unnerving, and you decide to do an experiment. You've noticed that the man never seems to take off his fedora, so you take the opportunity. "Yo, Jude."

He doesn't react to your calling him by his first name, any more than you reacted to being called Mr. Strider. "YES?" 

"Isn't it ungentlemanly to wear hats inside?" 

John gasps. Jude just shrugs a bit, writes, and holds up a card. "ISN'T IT IMPRACTICAL TO WEAR SUNGLASSES INDOORS?"

You knew perfectly well that you were being a hypocrite when you asked, but damn. He didn't even pause to think. Was he waiting for an opportunity to ask you about your shades? "You're fast. I wondered if you'd catch that."

"YOU INTENTIONALLY LEFT AN OPENING FOR A REBUTTAL TO YOUR VAGUELY INSULTING QUESTION?"

"Yeah, why not?"

"FASCINATING." He looks like he's about to move on from the statement, but then takes out another card. "MAY I ASK WHY?"

"I was genuinely curious. It seemed unusual, is all." You didn't actually intend to turn his statement back on him, but hey. You'll take it.

"WERE YOU NOT ALSO WEARING A HAT INDOORS WHEN JOHN AND I VISITED YOUR HOME?"

"Yeah, but I'm not a gentleman."

"I SEE. I SUPPOSE I SHOULD THANK YOU FOR THE COMPLIMENT, THEN, MR. STRIDER. I DO TRY TO BE A GENTLEMAN, WHEN I CAN." He has to get a second card to finish his statement. "I ADMIT THAT, THOUGH IT IS CONSIDERED UNGENTLEMANLY IN SOME CIRCLES, THAT I AM RATHER ATTACHED TO MY FEDORA. I SUPPOSE IT IS A TRADEMARK, OF SORTS."

You raise a brow. "So, like my shades."

"I SUPPOSE SO, YES." Jude Egbert really confuses the hell out of you. You get this uncanny feeling from him, like you're more similar than you think, and yet he simultaneously seems like your polar opposite. You've never encountered anything quite like it. He sits in the space on the couch next to you and pulls out his pipe.

You actually do have a problem with that. Even though you feel a bit of tension between yourself and him, you don't want to be hostile to the guy, so you figure just being as polite as you can about this is the best way to go. "I don't mind if you smoke--you know I do, too--but I don't really like to do it close to the kids, and Dave's right here. Second hand smoke, and all." You may not be the world's best father, but you have to draw the line somewhere.

He pauses halfway through packing his pipe and just blinks, like this idea had never occurred to him. He sets the thing in his lap so both of his hands are free to write. "I SUPPOSE THAT IS A LEGITIMATE CONCERN. I APOLOGIZE."

"It's okay, Mr. Egbert," Dave says, and gets up. "You and Bro can have your old dude chat. I think I'm gonna risk it with John and the friend-stealer."

You turn your head to look at him, blankly. "Don't call us old, Dave."

"But you're like thirty. That's ancient."

You don't mention that you're actually thirty-one and fuel his fire. "You ain't gonna think that for long, squirt. Go stop being antisocial. And be nice to your sister, yeah?"

Dave goes up to join his friends, then groans loudly when John and Rose inform him that they're done playing magicians and he's just in time to help them clean up.

You shake your head. "Kids. Gotta love 'em."

Mr. Egbert still puts his pipe away, then chooses to watch the kids clean, rather than continuing the conversation.

In the kitchen, the phone rings. You don't pay it much mind.

The silence that falls between you and Mr. Egbert is teetering on the line between comfortable and highly awkward. You decide to ignore it and watch the kids, too. You would almost feel sorry for Dave, except for the fact that he is perfectly capable of saying "no," if he doesn't want to do something. Granted, if you were friends with a kid like John and he was doing what he was doing, you might fold, too. It's like John knows what's been bothering Dave the way he's using it against him, calling Dave his best friend ever and making the Cute Face to rival all Cute Faces. You think the child might be secretly evil. He must get it from his mother.

Said mother chooses that moment to come out of the kitchen. "Jade just called."

John drops everything and stares. "Is she still on the phone?!?!?!?!" You mentally note that the excess punctuation you just imagined is definitely necessary to emphasize the level of his excitement.

She sighs, like she's about to deliver some bad news. "No, but she and your father are going to be here sometime within the next week. Jake's hurt his bad knee again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUN DUN DUUUUUUN.
> 
> Jake and Jade won't be in the next chapter, but they will be in the one after that. Just gotta wrap up a couple things here before we move on to a different day.


End file.
